


The Debut

by Hiver_Noir



Category: The Hitcher (1986)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, First Time, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Noir/pseuds/Hiver_Noir
Summary: Jim needs a lesson and Ryder is willing to teach.Senseless porn.
Relationships: Jim Halsey/John Ryder
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	The Debut

**Author's Note:**

> UNBETAED. Read at your own risk.  
> I blame [N0nexistent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N0nexistent/pseuds/N0nexistent) for this.

L is for love and  
O is for oh yes I do  
V is for virtue, so I ain't gonna hurt you  
E is for even if you want me to

The air at the roadside cafe where they dine is filled with the aromas of freshly brewed coffee and fried potatoes. The sun is no longer at the zenith, and its rays lick Jim's hands, laid upon the surface of a shabby table, with gentle strokes of their rough tongues while he fights the meal on his plate.

Ryder has already dealt with his share of food and leisurely sips his coffee from a white cup. He does both without any visible pleasure, in a technical and effective manner, as if filling a car before delving in a long journey, and Jim thinks that in a way, this is exactly what he does.

However, what surprises Jim the most is how he still manages to maintain an appetite at all, given what he does on a weekly basis; he had probably drank concrete to become this callous.

Jim reluctantly picks on a steak on his plate with a knife. The meat rests in a puddle of pink juice; the associations that pop up in his head in the regard to this image are not of the particularly rosy type. Having somehow swallowed half of the meal, he is already about to push the plate away when Ryder's voice interrupts him.

\- Eat up. - He says, still keeping his eyes on the half-empty cup he just put on the table. - You're still growing.

Something in his tone makes Jim unwillingly start to wonder if the man has any children, but he immediately refutes this assumption - of course not, a person who had witnessed the budding of a new life won’t trample over others with such incredible ease. Moreover, he sincerely hopes nobody would have to deal with a little copy of John Ryder, growing up somewhere in Arkansas - a blue-eyed angel with a head full of honey-blond curls, having the fun of his life by drowning dolls in a bowl of milk.

He takes the fork in his hand again, but can't swallow a piece while Ryder is still looking at him. Jim recalls reading somewhere the human body is unable to panic and nourish itself at the same time and now he clearly understands the truth of this statement. Fortunately, Ryder soon lowers his gaze. Taking a napkin in his hands, he proceeds to methodically rip it into small pieces. He rips and tears, because it's so awfully easy to do by taking a piece of skin with a pair of tweezers and pulling it... Jim swallows the lump in his throat with great effort, feverishly trying to shift his attention to something else. Anything. He sees a waitress and settles his stare on her white apron with an embroidered picture of a sickly, overfed chicken, but soon his gaze rises higher, outlining the deep neckline of her blouse, which barely conceals a lavish bosom that lies underneath it. He immediately feels embarrassed, moving his gaze up to her face as fast as he can, but the very same moment she meets his eyes with her own, making Jim realize she has noticed his little attempt at peeking. Jim blushes, head down - it seems that whatever he does today, everything goes awry.

As if that weren't enough, Ryder turns his head slightly, obviously keen to follow the line of Jim’s sight. He looks at the girl appraisingly, but what he's probably weighing inside that twisted mind of his is not her beauty, but the way her head might look on a stick.  
Despite being rather good looking – Jim could give the bastard a credit for that, at least – he doesn't strike Jim as a womanizer. In his opinion, Ryder is more like the type to jerk off to road kill, rotting by the side of the road or something like that. Jim truly hopes he would never find out.

He takes a sip from his cup and finally swallows the wretched piece of meat in his mouth, when, to his horror, he sees the beautiful waitress heading towards them, with a smile on her lips and a coffee pot in her hands. Ryder suddenly grins, glaring at him. It's like he arranged it on purpose, Jim thinks, even though he realizes it's impossible.

\- Hello, handsome.

Up close, she seems younger despite her bright makeup - or maybe it's the other way around, as Jim is not very well versed in such matters. He squeezes an awkward smile out, his eyes never leaving his plate.

\- More coffee? - She turns to Ryder and nearly beams at him; the man gives her a nod in return.

\- Yes, please.

The waitress pours coffee into his cup slowly, her body’s an elegantly curve over the table. All the while, she keeps throwing quick glances at Jim's face, still red as beetroot. When she's done with the drink, she takes a napkin from the table to wipe off a few spilled drops.

\- You have a very handsome boy, mister. It's not often we see a father and son traveling together these days. That's so cute.  
Jim doesn't even need to lift an eye to physically feel the edges of Ryder's mouth sprawling even further apart, pushing beyond the limits of human anatomy. He knows that smile, lighting his face up from within with a glow of sheer madness. 

\- That's very kind of you, miss.

Jim is still embarrassed, but at the same time he feels a slither of gratitude towards the young waitress. He has already forgotten what it feels like, to be perceived as a person, a human being of his own. In his mind, her words are akin to a thin thread, stretched to the world outside, a glimpse of a distant lighthouse - still inaccessible, but it’s enough to remind him there is a solid land beside this raging sea of sand and blood that has claimed him.

He looks up and gazes fondly at the girl’s back.

Feeling a bit reassured, Jim continues to fight the meal with a renewed vigor. Unfortunately, this change does not go unnoticed. Ryder finally leaves the napkin alone, and props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand.

\- So. - He says in his most casual tone. - Have you ever fucked?

Jim chokes, coughs, and ends up spitting out the long-suffering piece of steak he was trying so hard to swallow in the palm of his hand. Ryder waits patiently, quietly watching as he takes a gulp of his coffee, trying to figure out what in the world he should answer to this sort of question.

-What? - Jim finally decides to make sure he didn't mishear.

\- Sex. - The man answers lazily. - Have you ever had it? People do that.

Jim stares at him with his mouth wide open. He can feel his ears starting to burn, the most accurate indicators of his raging embarrassment.

Ryder tilts his head.

\- So is that a yes or a no? I'm waiting.

\- N-no, - Even though Jim barely manages to conjure an answer, he is telling the truth. He has never been intimate with anyone except for some sloppy kisses at the movie house and a dry, drunk handjob session inside the school bathroom on a prom night. That was his limit, the peak of Jim Halsey's sexual career, and he doesn't see any way to change that fact at the moment. More precisely, the mere thought of such a prospect in the near future utterly terrifies him.

\- Well, that's what I thought. - Ryder takes the cup and swirls the drink in his hand, watching the black liquid as it splashes against the walls of its porcelain prison. When he lifts his eyes, there are tiny sparkles of hellish fire dancing inside. – I can see it written all over your face. You're obviously a virgin.

Jim can feel the burning sensation from his ears creeping into his face. He clenches his fists, caught unguarded and unaware of the piece of meat he just spat onto his palm, but is immediately reminded of its existence with a sensation of wet, slippery warmth in his grip. Disgusted, he opens his fingers with haste.

\- And when do you plan to start?

\- Start what? - Jim answers mechanically, having lost the thread of the conversation.

\- Having sex, of course - Ryder continues, completely unperturbed. He leans forward confidently, body covering half the table in one fell swoop. His voice a velveteen murmur when he speaks again. - You know, practice is of great importance in this matter. And I could teach you a couple of lessons, if you’d like me to.

He smiles slyly as Jim struggles to comprehend what he's heard, still wrestling his stupor.

In the meanwhile, Ryder lowers his voice to almost to a whisper.

\- She's pretty cute, isn't she? I know what women need in bed. And besides, kid. - His smirk grows wider, though Jim didn't think it was even possible. - I also know what men need.

Ryder reaches out to Jim's open palm and picks up a piece of steak he has spat out. The man puts it in his mouth and swallows. But what strikes Jim the most is the obvious pleasure with which he does all of the above.

Finally, a kind of meal this psycho seemed to enjoy.

\- I need to go to the bathroom, - Jim says. For some reason, he's afraid Ryder won't let him go, but the latter only shrugs slightly, proceeding to drink his coffee, and Jim flies out of the table like he’s been stung by a bee.

The first thing he does when he gets to the toilet is splash a handful of water into his face. It seems to calm him down a bit. Jim has considered himself already pretty accustomed to the constant mockery from his captor, those meaningful gestures and long gloomy stares, but today Ryder managed to unsettle him in a whole new sense by offering him ... this. After thinking about the matter, Jim comes to the conclusion the man could not be serious. Although during the short span of time that Jim has the misfortune of knowing him, Ryder has shown no interest for women, nor has he shown any for men. To put it lightly, his «interest» in people was not one of those that could be considered flattering.

Coming to this conclusion, Jim lifts his face to look at himself in the mirror, but then he immediately jumps up on his feet, turning around to fix his gaze on a tall figure in a black cloak.

\- You left so abruptly. I thought you were feeling unwell.

Ryder looks at him with an expression of the most sincere sympathy – at least, Jim suspects that it must be what he has aimed for, because from his perspective this expression looks just plain creepy. He slowly straightens his back, hands resting on the sink, slick with water and soap.

\- I'm fine. - Jim says carefully. Not worse than usual, he adds to himself.

\- Truly? And I thought you were scared when the conversation turned a bit heated. What is it, the boy is afraid someone would open his little jug up? - Ryder's voice flows into Jim’s ears, sweet like honey. The man slightly tilts his head back, looking at Jim from under those ashen eyelashes, the pose giving him an eerie resemblance to some kind of an ancient statue – just as perfect and cold. - I thought you want this.

\- What made you think I do? – As his initial shock wears off a bit, Jim regains composure. Although he is aware of the disadvantageous position he is currently in, still unable to grasp what exactly Ryder is driving at, Jim knows he must defend himself – like he always does. And the fact that Ryder doesn’t attempt to do anything else besides mocking him with his words gives Jim some confidence that he can rely on.

\- Really? You stared at this cute little girl like that; I thought you were finally ripe enough to dive into the big world of sex.

\- I am not allowed to look at others? – There’s a wisp of annoyance stirring within Jim’s chest, plain and simple. John Ryder, who stares at him all the time, like the psychopath that he is, has no right to make such claims, from all people.

But Ryder just shrugs it off.

\- You can look. - He peers down, as if musing over something, and takes a step forward. When he looks up again, his gaze catches Jim by surprise - it's cold and sharp, completely out of sync with the relaxed expression Jim has seen on his face a minute ago. - But not _like that_.

Jim can’t help but recoil, until his hips are met with a cold edge of a bathroom sink. Fear rises up in his head – this seems to appear more serious then the usual taunts he grew way too accustomed to. One more step, and Ryder literally pushes his body against him, hovering over Jim’s head like a formidable omen. Next to his massive figure, everything in their surroundings seems terribly small - neither the sink nor Jim himself become an exception.

Rider leans lower and lower, until his hot breath ghosts over Jim's open neck, sending a wave of shivers down his spine.

\- So what do you say? Are you ripe enough?

Jim shudders, immediately ashamed of his reaction. A large hand rests on his lower back, pressing firmly as it brings his body closer to a broad chest that exudes heat.

\- Wait. - Jim breathes out, gripping the slippery surface of the sink behind his back. To his surprise, Ryder hesitates, but Jim knows the pause won't last very long - Not here.

He just says the first thing that comes into his mind and regrets it almost immediately. Not here? Does this mean he just gave this maniac his consent? And to what exactly? He looks up timidly to study the damage his poor choice of words may have produced. The face above him is serene, like the surface of a lake on a cold autumn morning, but the corners of the man's lips twitch slightly, hiding a smile and Jim feels relief. Just another cruel game, nothing more.

Ryder retreats from him silently, like a dark tidal wave. Killer wave, Jim corrects himself. Taking a deep breath, he follows the man out.

The rest of the day goes by without any particular shocks, for which Jim is immensely grateful. For a while, they just drive along the highway in complete silence. Even Ryder keeps his mouth shut, staring into the distance as the warm wind ruffles his hair. At times like this, Jim wonders what he could possible be thinking about, what thoughts could be filling his head, but at the same time, he realizes he does not want to know - for the sake of maintaining his sanity, if not for other reasons. Therefore, he looks away, focusing on the road. Oddly enough, he enjoys being behind the wheel - these are the very moments when he can pretend none of this has ever happened, and he is still racing down the highway, driving the car from one point on the map to another.

The motel they are staying at this night is no different than any others - everything looks so familiar Jim wonders if they've ever been there before. He looks at the pair of beds, the lame little dresser and the small TV, nestled in the corner of the room, and for the first time in a long while, he gets overwhelmed with such a familiar, sickly sweet feeling.

He is at home.

While Jim tries to digest this discovery, Ryder's voice speaks over his ear.

\- What are you waiting for? Go shower. - He says shortly, and Jim slips past him without uttering another word. Once in the bathroom, he hastily closes the latch – futile as it is, the action allows him to feel a semblance of security, although he realizes that neither this door nor the entire motel with its cardboard walls and plastic doorways could withstand Ryder's assault. He presses his back against the door, as if trying to make sure it is closed, and begins to undress, hastily taking his clothes off. The shower is the best part of his bleak reality, as he appreciates the chance to wash off the road dust like nothing else. Jim turns on the water and climbs in, standing under the warm spray, muscles tired of the constant tension brought by the weight of a cold, studying gaze he is forced to shoulder. He stands there for a while, eyes closed, and then reaches out for the soap. He cleans himself very thoroughly, gently washing off the foam, determined not to leave a single centimeter of skin untouched. Once finished, he turns his face away from the even flow of water, and this becomes the moment his nostrils pick up a faint smell of cigarette smoke.

Jim turns around sharply, eyes wide open. Ryder stands a few steps away, looking at him calmly with a lit cigarette in his hand. Jim mind goes hollow except for the sheer, overwhelming realization he had never felt this exposed before - the man has a perfect view on his body – every part of it. The door behind Ryder’s back is neatly closed.

Jim freezes in place, like a partridge spotting the silhouette of a hawk, soaring high in the azure sky. Slowly, the ringing emptiness inside his head fills with terror. His first thought is to cover up, hide his vulnerable body from this gaze, reflecting an almost scientific indifference, but his limbs refuse to obey for he does not know where to start.

Ryder moves closer in silence, as if playing the act they have rehearsed in a diner’s restroom earlier, and Jim backs away until he is pressed against the tiled wall. The spray of water splashes onto Ryder's clothes, soaking his baby-blue shirt into a darker, more dangerous shade. Just like his eyes, Jim thinks. He suddenly becomes cold despite the cloud of warm steam that envelops his body. They are both males, but this is the first time a murderer sees him naked – or at least Jim hopes so.

Rider measures him up and down attentively. He runs his fingers over the bare skin on Jim’s shoulder, coercing a shiver out of the yielding flesh. Slowly, the man lifts his head to look Jim straight into the eyes.

\- I believe you are clean enough already. Don’t you think so?

\- Y-yes. - Jim stutters for some reason, giving an eager nod of his head. Softly, he slides past Ryder’s massive form, trying his best not to touch him when the man suddenly grabs his hand, making him falter in his steps.

\- Don't forget to dry your hair.

Jim nods again, not quite sure what exactly Ryder could mean by that, then nearly bolts out of the bathroom, covering his modesty with a thin towel. Once he has the chance, he changes into a clean set of clothes and undoes the bed. Although he doesn't quite grasp the reason behind Ryder's sudden interest in his hair, he rubs his head diligently with a towel, trying to fulfill the demand. He hopes to be done with his nightly routine as quickly as possible, and tuck himself under the blanket before the man would return, but all too soon, the sounds of the running water gives way to formidable silence. Jim’s hope for an early rest falls apart with a barely audible creak of the door being opened.

\- Did you dry your hair well? I hate wet pillows. - Jim doesn't move an inch when Ryder approaches and reaches out, running his fingers through the slightly damp strands on his head. The man seems to be satisfied with the result of Jim’s efforts as he doesn't say anything else, and Jim takes a deep breath as the lingering apprehension, gathered somewhere under his ribs, silently unwinds. He is still puzzled by the man's words, having no idea what his wet pillow has to do with him, but after a few moments a grinding noise attracts his attention. As he turns around, he sees Ryder, dressed only in his shorts, as he moves the two beds together, leaning on one of them with his foot.

Jim just stares at him with his mouth slightly agape. They've slept in the same bed before - and Jim didn't dare to bat an eye for a good half of the night, but this is the first time Ryder has done something like that, and Jim can't help but wonder about the intention behind this change. As if feeling Jim’s stare on his skin, Ryder looks back at him, his expression extremely serious - frightening.

\- The hotel is empty, Jim. You can do whatever you want, no one will hear you.

\- What do you mean? - Jim asks a question, but in fact he already knows all the answers he needs. The events of the day surge through his mind in a rush, Ryder's words still echoing inside his ears.

\- You know what I mean. - Ryder comes closer. He peers down at him calmly, lazily tracing Jim's features over with his eyes. - We've already talked about it. But if you need me to say this out loud, I can do it.

He smiles dryly as he bends down so that their faces are on the same level – and he never breaks the eye contact, looking at Jim like he is trying to pry his head open with this stare alone.

\- I'm going to have sex with you, kid.

Jim blinks like he’s been struck blind as the words have settled into his ears and found their way inside his skull. He doesn’t make a sound to respond, his whole body frozen in the position he has previously adopted, unable to move a limb. Ryder reaches out and takes Jim's face in both of his hands. There’s a feigned tenderness in his touch, his stare - oozing serenity through the thick, sun-bleached eyelashes, fanning his icy eyes, so light they seem to have been sprinkled with ash - while Jim struggles to suppress a fit of panic, rising within his chest. The thumb on his face moves to the side, passing under his mouth to rest on his lip, gently massaging the flesh.

\- Are you scared? – The man asks softly.

\- Yes. - Jim sees no reason to hide the obvious. To his own surprise, his voice barely trembles.

\- It’s alright. - Ryder agrees indifferently. - You should be scared.

Ryder caresses his face in silence, as if contemplating something, but his eyes remain as cold as before. Jim feels like his own heart is about to stop beating, having decided to play dead in this trying time.

\- Poor boy. - Ryder hums to himself, as if he’s just voicing out the thoughts in his head. - It will hurt.

The next moment one of his hands is on Jim's shoulder, and he pushes him onto the bed, pressing against the sheet. Jim barely manages to suck in a shuddering breath through his teeth, as Ryder leans down, too fast for him to prepare for his approach -the man hasn't really touched him yet, but Jim is already seized with trembling.

Ryder's hand feels heavy as a stone as it lies on Jim's chest, while the other delves under his shirt. Jim’s whole body gets tense, stretched out like a string – tight and ready to be plucked by a confident hand; he doesn't know what consequences his resistance could bring and still hopes for all of it to end up being merely a joke. He hopes Ryder would gain whatever he needs by mocking him as he usually does, and would let Jim alone once he is done. Meanwhile, the man studies his face leisurely, stroking Jim’s chest with an open hand - as his palm moves over a nipple, blunt fingers give it a little squeeze.

\- So smooth. - Ryder muses quietly. - Behave yourself.

He lets go of Jim, proceeding to explore his body with both hands, acting as methodically as if he is performing a task of a great importance. There is something soothing in the dispassionate manner in which he does this, and, despite his tension, Jim manages to forget himself – there is some sort of a haze over his mind, born from the absurdity of the situation he finds himself in and it smoothes out all the sharp angles, lulling him into submission. Yet he is still forced to come to his senses when Ryder grabs him under his knees with one hand, bending his legs to pull the underwear off. Startled, Jim reaches out, making a feeble attempt at stopping him, but a heavy stare soon cuts it off. With his eyes fixed on the face in front of him, the man yanks Jim’s knees apart; unexpectedly even for himself, Jim issues a whimper, born out of fear and surprise, but mostly out of helplessness, rendering his hands weak and heavy.

Sitting between his legs, Ryder gazes at the sight that has opened to him. A plastic bottle of massage oil appears in his hand - brand new and unopened, and somehow this makes Jim's heart fall over the edge. Now he understands. This is serious; Ryder is not going to back down this time. He wants to say something – perhaps, ask the man to be gentle, but he doesn't know if he would manage to do it - his lips are trembling, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Spellbound, Jim watches as Ryder pours oil into his palm; catching his eye, the man reaches for Jim's face to brush his slippery fingers over the tip of his nose lightly – embarrassed by the playful tenderness of this gesture, Jim looks away without making a single sound.

He leans back, staring at the whitewashed ceiling, lost somewhere in the dim depths above as the yellow light from the lamp pours into his eyes like warm, melted butter. The room becomes very quiet.

\- Now I’m going to touch you. - In this silence Ryder’s voice is exceptionally crisp. - From within.

Jim feels the first wet caress and instinctively tries to recoil, but Ryder doesn't permit him to, holding him in a tight grip. At first, the man’s touch comes in with light, teasing strokes as he smears the cool substance over the entrance, but then one of his fingers digs into the flesh, slowly but surely pushing it apart. Jim shudders - he fidgets, trying to cover up, but in vain - Ryder has already worked two phalanxes inside. The man handles him with a care that Jim didn't expect to get from him, but for some reason it only torments him more. Soon a second finger is added, and Jim lets out a shaky breath - this already seems too much - the initial discomfort becomes more intense, and he can hardly contain himself so as not to attempt to - what? Push him away? Ryder has already said it - no one will hear him scream. Jim swallows hard and tries his best to relax, to let him in, although everything in his body tells him to do the opposite.  


Somewhere from above, Ryder chuckles approvingly.

He suddenly changes his position and leans very close, pressing his temple to Jim's in a mocking display of affection. Now he is very close - hot jolts of air that come out from his mouth land on Jim’s lips. Ryder’s free hand rests on his thigh, holding it in place cautiously, although Jim has no interest in resistance. A massive thumb moves in circles, massaging the protruding bone on his hip, and a soft laugh erupts somewhere near Jim’s ear.

\- You’re so soft. Both on the in and outside. I should have done this sooner.

A second finger joins the first, and Jim clenches his teeth, unwittingly holding his breath. The sensations, brought to life by the leisurely movements inside his gut, now feel much sharper, and his body involuntarily clenches on its own accord, protesting against the intrusion - the grip on his hip instantly becomes stronger, holding him in place. Ryder tirelessly presses on his pliant, sensitive walls, as if trying to loosen a tightly tied knot, and Jim makes every effort to contain the sounds, rushing out from his throat. As if in response to his body’s obvious strain, Ryder pulls the fingers out, allowing it to rest, and slides them down the hollow between Jim’s buttocks. Bringing them back, he gently massages the disturbed hole, soothingly stroking around the sore edges; then in one deliberate, smooth movement, he pushes back in, this time three fingers at once – his ministrations persistent, but terribly slow as he plunges inside. By the time he does it, Jim can barely stand this anymore - a strangled sound escapes his lips, low and hoarse; he wants to push Ryder away, curl up into a ball, but does not dare to. All he can do is grasp at the sheets with his fingers, fighting the burning sensation inside his eyes and between his legs.

\- Shh, you’re almost there. - Obviously, Ryder does not miss his reaction. A heavy hand covers Jim’s trembling fingers, tearing them off the worn fabric and giving a gentle squeeze. - You are doing so well. I’m rather surprised.

Jim's eyes widen a bit at the words, and he moves his head to stare at the man in amazement. This is the very moment the movement inside him stops and Jim realizes that Ryder has driven his finger in to the hilt.

\- There’s to need to hold your breath. Hold on to me instead.

Only after hearing these words, Jim’s attention shifts to the sound of his own breathing, labored and torn. He tries to calm it down a bit, taken aback by the way his own narrow hand drowns inside Ryder’s large one – there comes a distant surprise once he remembers that the same massive fingers are immersed in his body. Embarrassed by this thought, he hides his gaze within the dark folds of the bedclothes he is displayed on, as the man slowly stretches his flesh; gingerly, he tightens his grip on Ryder's hand harder, trying to find some distraction as his captor returns the gesture.

When Ryder finally releases him, Jim is already completely exhausted. Tired and worn down, he watches as the man looms over him to place a pillow under his thighs, vaguely understanding it’s purpose. He doesn’t try to move away as Ryder leans to his face, lips lightly brushing over his temple.

\- You're so cute when you're afraid of me. – His voice a husky whisper beside Jim’s ear as he puts his hands on his hips. Jim squeezes his eyelids shut, trying to detach himself from what is about to happen, but the next moment his eyes fly wide open when a hot pair of lips cover his mouth and Ryder pushes into him at the very same time. Overwhelmed by this double invasion, Jim wants to cry out from the burn, but the attempt only serve to pry his lips apart, inviting a wet tongue to eagerly plunge inside. There is a tight hold of fingers on his twitching hips, preventing any opportunity to move away; instinctively, Jim tries to bring his knees together – he punches Ryder in the chest with all his might. Almost immediately, he is petrified, realizing what he has done - Jim’s struggle subsides as he expects to feel a hold on his throat, a heavy choke to press him into the bed; he expects the black spots to dance under the ceiling as his consciousness sink in darkness, with the sight of two cold, icy eyes being the last thing he sees in this life. But none of this happens. Breaking the kiss, Ryder presses on his shoulder softly, still holding him in place with one hand.

\- Hush. - He says.

Jim falls back on the bed, his body limp, as if all of his strength has been sucked out of him. He tries to breathe deeper, but something gets in the way, interrupting the flow of air in his throat. He does not want to cry, but after a while his eyes begin to burn again, swelling with bitter fluid. Ryder sways above him - inside him - in an even and measured rhythm, but each movement only inflames the coals that have gathered between his thighs. They are searing Jim’s flesh, way too hot, and he sobs, clinging to the sheets, unable to understanding how people can actually enjoy this.

\- It hurts. - He whispers. He does not ask Ryder to stop, knowing well enough that it would be useless, but something makes him say these words out loud. Ryder has done worse things, Jim knows he is capable of inflicting him much more suffering, and it is in his best interest not to anger this man. But this ache is too new for him. He gazes at the man above through a veil of tears, rendering his image dark and blurry like he is looking at him through a plate of dull glass, and sees Ryder slightly tilt his head. His face remains in the shadow, his hair ablaze with a dim fire under a yellow electric glow. A large palm falls to rest on the lower part of Jim’s belly, lightly pressing in.

\- Take a deep breath, here. - Jim is still gasping for air as the man gently pinches his skin to get his attention. – Breath in.

Jim obeys, sucking the air in deeply. He doesn’t know if it truly makes him feel better, or if he just managed to distract himself a bit, but it seems the strain in the lower parts of his body gradually lessens. A wide palm drags across his stomach in a circular motion, mercifully allowing him to focus on the sensation. He flinches, blinking the tears away from his eyes when Ryder suddenly leans down again, propping his weight with an elbow next to Jim’s head, and instinctively throws his hands up, pushing against the man’s chest, as if in fear he would accidently crush him.

Ryder arches an eyebrow, looking intently into Jim’s face, flushed pink but still wary, and a slight smile touches his lips. His movements become slower, but more profound, as he barely leaves the body, outspread and open for him to roll in and out in a sedative tide of persistent waves. He moves deep – so much that Jim issues a plaintive moan on the second push - he thinks he can feel Ryder inside his stomach, although Jim realizes this is hardly possible. Ryder is studying him all this time, as if he is trying to penetrate him with his eyes to see what he is made of, and a thick blush floods all over Jim’s face at this thought, painting it hot and rosy. In truth, the solid rod moving within his body constantly brushes and presses against something inside his gut, drawing out a faint sparkle among the coals that smolder within his groin, and Jim is flabbergasted to admit this sensation is not entirely unpleasant. And he knows that Ryder is aware of it that too - Jim can see it in his knowing eyes, attentive as ever - he slowly melts under this gaze, rendering his body weak and even more pliant. He still breathes as deep as Ryder has told him before, which makes him dizzy. Tears finally run down his cheeks, tickling as they crawl into his ears, and the hand on his stomach stops its soothing caress to approach his face instead. Having picked up one of the salty drop from Jim's cheek, Ryder rubs it between his fingers, studying the transparent liquid as if it was the first time he has witnessed something like that. The man strokes Jim’s cheek lightly with his warm, callous fingers, but the latter avoids his touch, turning his head away.

\- Still don't want to give in to me? - Ryder's voice a soft rasp above his head, rustling like a falling heap of dried leaves. - Let's try it another way.

He grabs Jim by the waist, rolling onto his back without separating them, and suddenly Jim finds himself hovering over Ryder, supported by a pair of strong arms.

\- Now it’s your turn. - Says Ryder. Something strange breaks through in his voice, making him sound eerie different, but Jim does not have the time to identify the nature of this change as the man lifts him slightly above his lap. And Jim understands. After a short hesitation, he props his hands on Ryder’s shoulders and begins to descend. He winces, not daring to lower himself completely and take the man in to the hilt, but Ryder does not rush him, he just waits, patient and unperturbed. Large hands are locked tightly around his waist, helping him to maintain his balance, and Jim vaguely muses that otherwise he would not be able to keep this position at all. He tries to sink lower, to absorb him, not quite understanding why he even feels this need to comply, until, finally, he is seated on Ryder’s laps, breathing hard. After a few seconds of rest, Jim meets his gaze, and what he sees blows his mind away. He feels infinitely perverse, straddling his thighs like a whore, and hot tears roll into his eyes again, threatening to overflow and spill. And yet, the man’s gaze hits him with an unreadable expression that Jim has never seen in his face before. For some reason, it spurs him to action. He begins to bounce carefully, listening to himself, lost in the sensations and waves of pure, unrestrained heat, emanating from Ryder's eyes, which never leave his features. Jim notices droplets of perspiration, scattered on his temples and forehead like grains of salt, and suddenly he realizes all of it is his doing. Even in this dim light, Jim notices how strange Ryder’s pupils are as he gazes at him — blown wider than when he kills, darker than Jim has ever seen before; the man peers at him with such intensity as if it causes him some kind of torment, but he keeps this ache hidden under the mask of his face, cold and impenetrable. As if in response to this thought, the man reaches out for him. He grabs Jim by the armpits, stabilizing his body and evening out the rhythm, and the latter lets out another stuttering breath - he suddenly feels particularly weak, like his legs grew tired from the effort. His head spins, and he wraps an arm around Ryder's neck, fearing the fall and pulling him closer.

\- I can't do it anymore. - He mutters.

\- Do you want me to get you laid? - A broad palm rests at the side of his face, like at the very beginning, sliding over his cheek and below. This time Jim doesn't try to turn away.

Jim nods, his hands clutching at Ryder’s shoulders. The air in the room is cool, and it’s licking his hot, damp skin, sending shivers. Jim needs something warm and big to cover him from above, shielding him from the whole huge world outside, but he smothers this craving with all of his might.

\- Do you really want this? Say it.

\- Yes. - Jim breathes out. He sobs, overwhelmed by a feeling of loss as Ryder slips out and picks him by the shoulders to put Jim onto the bed before positioning himself between his quivering thighs. A large, warm hand strokes his hair greedily, like it’s unable to get enough from the touch as Ryder grins at him triumphantly, showing teeth.

\- You asked me yourself.

With his free hand, the man spreads Jim’s thighs wider and enters, his full length immediately sliding in. Jim cries out and arches, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, but Ryder already comes into motion, and his cry stutters, softening into a moan. The first push takes Jim by surprise, soon followed by the second one, and the third that got his head spinning again. The man establishes a measured, precise rhythm, increasing the amplitude of his thrust, until he begins to move at the full length.

Ryder’s rough hands slide over Jim’s body, but now there is an obvious hunger behind their touch, nearly overwhelming in it’s intensity - his fingers grope at the flesh, raking and drawing patterns over the skin – like Ryder wants to claim every part of him at once, never giving Jim a moment of rest. He feels as if he is about to fall through somewhere - the bed is slipping from under his back, and he desperately looks for something he could hold on to stay on the surface. Nearly dazed, Jim grabs the man by the shoulder, gasping and arching under the onslaught of strong, perfectly aimed thrusts. Ryder pulls his hips forward, slightly lifting them up to better take him in, and bends down, so that Jim lets out a whimper upon seeing his eyes so close. In response, Ryder silently bares his teeth – it is not clear whether this sight is meant to be a smile or a grin, but Jim has no time to think about such trivial matters, being nailed to the bed. There is an onslaught of lips, sliding over Jim’s salty face, a gentle nip of sharp teeth making him wince, expecting a bite that never follows. One of Ryder’s hands rests on the sheet, while the other slides down between their heated bodies to give the base of Jim’s cock a tight squeeze – and Jim is thunderstruck with the realization it is already hard as a stone. Listening to himself, he finds a tender sprout in the pit of his stomach, already ripening with sticky-white pleasure, but it’s still too weak, and he is too stunned to nourish it into blossom. He melts under the waves of heat, emanating from the body above his own, as he digs his fingers into the flesh under his hands, leaving marks. The way Ryder touches him below, sets something within him free – and he welcomes it with a melody of his moans, quiet but eager. Jim closes his eyes as he submits to the storm of sensations, striking him from within. There are so many of them that he is ready to drown.

\- Slow down. - He mutters almost incoherently, not daring to believe the man will obey, but to Jim’s surprise, he does. The tempo slows down as the thrusts become stronger, and each of them passes over that sensitive gland, pressing on, pulling him deeper. Despite the unhurried pace, the movements gradually grow more and more insistent, and, casting a glance at Ryder's face, Jim suddenly realizes that he is approaching his peak - the blurred gaze of these blue eyes, now dark as a stormy sky, betrays him. It takes only a few moments before the man abruptly drops his head down, as if something is crumbling inside him, and this is a frightening view - especially when it involves a person like him. Almost without realizing what he is doing, Jim instinctively stretches his hands out to stroke at Ryder’s damp hair, as if trying to soothe down a sole survivor in the midst of some terrible catastrophe; Jim can barely feel something hot spilling within his gut. It takes some time for the man to look up to him, but when he does, his face is calm again, a thin smile hanging at the corners of his lips. Jim spots his own little reflections in the icy mirrors of Ryder’s pupils and absent-mindedly wonders about how the man must perceive him now - teary-eyed, disheveled, lacking the strength to even bring his legs together.

Ryder leans towards his neck, gracing the flesh with a delicate bite. Jim’s fingers are still tangled inside his hair, but he is too shaken to let him go. The man leans down, rubbing his cheek against Jim’s wrist, a soft touch of his lips soon to follow.

-You were doing so well. - Ryder mutters, suddenly grabbing Jim’s hands with his own. - I think you deserve a reward.  
Without saying another word, he easily slips out of the exhausted body to slide down along its form – Jim’s previous panic flares up in his head briefly, as he’s failing to understand what Ryder has planed out next, his worry thickly mixed with shame. It goes up like a signal flash, but fades quickly when a wet mouth captures his nipple on its way below. Jim arches as sharp teeth bite down on the skin on his stomach, and goes limp as the hot breath finally reaches his groin and ghosts over his cock, enveloping it in moist warmth.

It’s the same fiery heat that’s been invading and conquering his insides just a few moments ago, but now it’s taking him in instead, licking and sucking at the flesh with an obvious hunger. Jim moans lasciviously, writhing on the sheets, as Ryder devours him, and at this moment the whole world around him fades, washed with a wave of mind-blowing, viscous pleasure, born in the pit of his loins in spite of everything. Jim's fingers flutter as Ryder's grip tightens over his hand, he’s breath grows heavier with each swirl of a tongue, as he stares blindly at the ceiling, not daring to cast a single glance down, where this insatiable month keeps on pleasuring him with an undeniable zeal. Jim closes his eyes, dissolving in a sensation he had never experienced before, forced into submission before he even realizes what exactly is happening.

Jim feels lost within the silky captivity of these lips, too soft to belong to a man like this - the movements of his tongue are deceptively sloppy, but each one of them falls in the right place. Jim briefly wonders about where Ryder could have gained such skill and why on earth he is willing to use them on him, but soon his thoughts are wiped clean from his head. A hot mouth engulfs him completely, exquisite and tireless as it works his shaft up and down, and Jim moans again, trying to free his hands, to run his fingers through the blond strands of hair like he did before. It doesn’t take long for a huge bubbling surge of heat to jolt through his body, rendering everything white as he shuts his eyes, unable to withstand it. He barely hears a groan, resonating in his ears, and only after a while he realizes it was his own. When he finally opens his eyes, Ryder looms over him again. Jim holds his stare, dazed and shaken to the core, barely recognizing his features. A few drops of pearly white liquid still glisten on Ryder’s lips. Silently, he leans over and covers Jim’s mouth with his own, and the latter parts his lips in obedience, letting him in once more. There’s salty taste on his tongue, like sea water, but he does not find it to be disgusting.

Breaking away from Jim, Ryder lies next to him, propping his head on his hand. Jim's gaze moves to the side to fall on the barroom door, inviting and slightly opened, but the man’s arm already encircles his waist, pulling him into an embrace.

\- Tomorrow. – Ryder’s hot breath scorches his ear. - I want to smell my scent on you tonight.

And Jim stays where he is. He truly believes Ryder is able to smell his scent on his skin - it seems like Jim is soaked with it from head to toes. Tired to the extreme, he muses about how he needs to free himself, to move away, but Ryder presses him tightly to his chest, and Jim no longer has the strength or desire to resist. Somewhere above, Ryder buries his nose into his hair and takes a deep breath, so that Jim wearily closes his eyes, allowing himself to relax and enjoy the hug, thinking he will do so only this for a couple of seconds, but falls sound asleep instead.

The next morning, they have breakfast at the same cafe they have dined the previous day. Ryder sips his coffee, gazing thoughtfully at the monotonous landscape outside the window, but this time Jim finds himself able to keep up with him. He ravishes his breakfast like he has ran a marathon at night - and in a way, he did.

He catches Ryder's brief glance. There’s a faint grin the corners of his lips, hiding behind the cup, and Jim feels his ears burning. However, he is not embarrassed enough to lose his appetite. He is almost finished with his omelet when the waitress comes up with a coffee pot. This is the same girl as yesterday, and she is still as pretty - but now Jim is not as interested.

\- More coffee? - She asks.

\- Please be so kind. - Ryder replies politely, placing the empty cup on the table. The girl smiles at him graciously as she refills it. Her gaze falls on Jim, and it seems like she wants to say something when Ryder reaches across the table, covering his palm with his hand. Jim shudders slightly, feeling the hot captivity tighten around his fingers, cutting off the route to escape – and the heat of this body has already become too familiar. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim can see the girl's reaction, how the smile on her face freezes as she leans over the table to pour some coffee.

\- Thank you. – Now Ryder is grinning at the top of his mouth, and Jim finds it unexpectedly refreshing to be able to see this scary man's weird humor directed at someone other than him. With a short nod, the waitress hurries away and Ryder looks at him again. He suddenly winks at him, as if they both were in the conspiracy to play out this jest, and for some reason Jim feels a slight tingling in the corners of his lips. It takes him a couple of moments to recognize it as a shocking urge to return the smile. Confused by this odd reaction, Jim returns to his breakfast, expecting Ryder to let him go now that the waitress is gone, but the man doesn’t take his hand away.


End file.
